 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
169
LINES READ AT A GOLDEN WEDDING, FEBRUARY 24, 1862.
'Twas fifty years ago to day,
That you, dear friends, now old and gray,
In blooming man and womanhood,
Before the marriage altar stood.
That you, dear friends, now old and gray,
In blooming man and womanhood,
Before the marriage altar stood.
Life's vista lay before you—bright,
With joy and hope and living light,
Your path all smooth to fancy's eye,
No rugged steeps, no stormy sky.
With joy and hope and living light,
Your path all smooth to fancy's eye,
No rugged steeps, no stormy sky.
How few who with you life began,
Have filled the allotted years of man.
And fewer still, of those who paired
Ten lustrums since, have both been spared.
Have filled the allotted years of man.
And fewer still, of those who paired
Ten lustrums since, have both been spared.
Ten lustrums since—how distant then,
The goal of three score years and ten.
In retrospect how near that day,
How blank the space, how short the way.
The goal of three score years and ten.
In retrospect how near that day,
How blank the space, how short the way.
As the new moon which first at even,
Shows a faint streak of light in heaven,
And each succeeding night displays
An added breadth of silvery rays,
Shows a faint streak of light in heaven,
And each succeeding night displays
An added breadth of silvery rays,
170
Until the appointed seasons past,
The narrow belt is filled at last,
And a broad shield of tender light
Rises full orbed upon the sight.
The narrow belt is filled at last,
And a broad shield of tender light
Rises full orbed upon the sight.
Thus to your married life, was laid
Each passing year, the added braid;
Till now before the eye appears,
The fair, full orb of fifty years.
Each passing year, the added braid;
Till now before the eye appears,
The fair, full orb of fifty years.
These children clustering round the hearth,
With pattering feet and hearts of mirth:
A numerous progeny, that claim
Their venerated grandsire's name.
With pattering feet and hearts of mirth:
A numerous progeny, that claim
Their venerated grandsire's name.
Oh may they, when to stature grown,
Each make your virtues all their own.
Fill well the place where you have stood,
And spend their lives in doing good.
Each make your virtues all their own.
Fill well the place where you have stood,
And spend their lives in doing good.
In all the ways your feet have trod,
Your stay has been the living God;
A fixed and earnest faith in Him,
Which neither joy, nor grief could dim.
Your stay has been the living God;
A fixed and earnest faith in Him,
Which neither joy, nor grief could dim.
A faith, that He who rules on high,
Hears the young ravens when they cry,
And notes the slender sparrow's fall,
In love and wisdom rules o'er all.
Hears the young ravens when they cry,
And notes the slender sparrow's fall,
In love and wisdom rules o'er all.
171
Within that space of fifty years,
How much of joy, how many fears,
How much of sorrow now forgot,
How much of love and peace your lot.
How much of joy, how many fears,
How much of sorrow now forgot,
How much of love and peace your lot.
Beneath your eye, how vast has grown
This blessed land we call our own.
What feasts has knowledge round us spread,
Made common as our daily bread.
This blessed land we call our own.
What feasts has knowledge round us spread,
Made common as our daily bread.
What comforts has invention poured,
What plenty crowns the scanty board;
And peace seemed ours through coming time,
Till war came on the path of crime.
What plenty crowns the scanty board;
And peace seemed ours through coming time,
Till war came on the path of crime.
Much of the happiness we view,
We owe dear friends to such as you,
To pure example, toilsome care,
Which youthful minds for life prepare.
We owe dear friends to such as you,
To pure example, toilsome care,
Which youthful minds for life prepare.
Blest in your basket and your store,
Blest in the love of children more,
In calm repose, life's labors done,
Patient you wait its setting sun.
Blest in the love of children more,
In calm repose, life's labors done,
Patient you wait its setting sun.
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |